


Distraction

by lowtides



Series: fc5 writing prompts [1]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16902063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowtides/pseuds/lowtides
Summary: Jacob is an annoying apocalyptic bunker companion, and it's driving Rook crazy.





	Distraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [songofproserpine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofproserpine/gifts).



> done for the [hozier lyrics](https://lowtldes.tumblr.com/post/180905328587/hozier-sentence-meme) prompt fill!
> 
> sentence prompt: "there's an art to life's distractions"

Jacob Seed is not a man so easily troubled. Rook is aware of this, but there’s something about the impatient jig of his leg and drum of his fingers on the tabletop that tells her something’s on his mind.

It’s been three weeks since the world ended—a tad earlier than the Peggies had expected, considering the fact that the sirens went off right in the middle of their undignified wrestling at the top of the big rock Jacob nested in after he got her to kill Eli.

She should have just killed him there. Hell, _he_ should have just killed her right there. But instead, in the chaos of the ground shaking and alarm sirens wailing in the distance, they ran to the nearest bunker. Not _together_ , of course, that’s absolutely insane… but they just happened to make it into some dead prepper’s bunker at the same time. Shitty coincidences and even shittier luck, because after three more attempts of trying to kill each other, they resigned themselves to the fact that the only company for the next seven or so years is each other.

Oh, they’re still gonna kill each other. Definitely. But the bloodthirst has been shelved away, an unspoken agreement that staying alone with a corpse for seven years doesn’t do the psyche any favors.

So. Week 3 out of 365. Jacob’s fidgeting has Rook thinking about shooting him in the head. Or throttling him. Or just holding him down and— _christ, no._ Just. Whatever gets the guy to sit still and _quiet_ so Rook can properly focus on reading the actual hell that is Dostoevsky’s stream of consciousness. It’s sad, really, that the prepper’s taste in books is that akin to the summer reading list Rook pretended she read in high school.

“You know,” she begins, irritated, “fidgeting like a kid waiting for church to be over isn’t gonna make the apocalypse go by faster.”

Across the table, Jacob stills. He narrows his eyes at her, as if she’s committed an offense by talking to him. It’s the first time they’ve spoken to each other in days. They’ve fallen into a kind of pattern—spending _days_ co-existing but ignoring each other, then one of them breaking the silence that leads to one or two antagonistic conversations before they’re back to seething in silence.

“I’m waiting,” Jacob grates, voice sounding a little raspy from lack of use.

Rook ignores the goosebumps she feels rise when she hears him speak. “Yeah, I know. But being annoying isn’t gonna make your _brother_ sprint to the radio in his bunker.”

She spits the word _brother_ like it’s something vile. It’s well-deserved, she thinks, since said brother did, in fact, stare way too long at her in the fucking murder sex dungeon he calls his confession room. It’s bad enough that Rook has yet to get ahold of _any_ of her friends on the radio, but she has to hear John Seed’s crooning voice twice a week.

“There’s nothing to do in here aside from wait, Deputy.”

“Distract yourself with something.”

Jacob scoffs and starts drumming his fingers on the tabletop again. “Just said there’s nothing to fuckin’ do.”

Rook glares hard into the pages of her book, unable to focus on the words. “Stop that. Seriously. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”

She gives up on the page she’s on and turns to the next. If anything, Jacob’s drumming on the table gets louder. Rook grinds her teeth, trying to drown out the sound. In the end, she can’t help it. Her foot flies up and kicks his shin _hard_ underneath the table.

The force of the kick was hard enough that her foot is buzzing slightly, but Jacob doesn’t even flinch. The drumming stops— _thank god_ —and he looks utterly unimpressed with her.

“Good try,” he says flatly. _Asshole._

Jacob pushes his chair back and stands from the table with an exasperated sigh, walking a short distance over to the stock of canned food. Rook leans back in her chair and tries to go back to her book, glaring at the paragraph she’s stuck on.

Unfortunately, her peace doesn’t last long, because Jacob resituates himself at the table, scraping his spoon loudly around an opened can. _Chewing_ loudly, too. He’s fucking with her. He’s gotta be fucking with her.

Rook frowns harder into her book, chewing on her lip to stop herself from snapping at him. Her fingers dig into the pages of the book, holding back the urge to slam it shut and just chuck it at Jacob’s red head.

It passes after a few minutes, Jacob finishing his meal shortly. No more loud, fidgeting sounds, not after he’s discarded the empty can and tossed the spoon into the sink. _Where the hell is John_ , Rook thinks, because the wait is obviously _killing_ Jacob. He’s no longer sitting—he’s buzzing around the cramped bunker, walking around and sparing a glance at the radio on the desk every few moments. Jacob, hands resting low on his hips, paces and paces, sighing and shaking his head every so often.

He’s worried, the discomfort to his gait has Rook almost feeling bad for him. Almost. Rook tries _again_ to focus back on the book. Nope, she’s not gonna waste a single thought feeling bad for Jacob Seed. Or thinking that it’s kind of endearing he’s worrying for John like a parent whose kid stayed out way past curfew. _Nope._

Rook bites down on her tongue so hard she tastes blood.

“Maybe he forgot,” Rook says, despite herself. _Dammit. Do not engage._

Jacob stops his pacing and looks at her sharply. “John doesn’t forget.”

“Maybe he’s busy.”

“We _agreed_ that this is the time we check-in and call.”

“I know, I was there,” Rook mutters, rolling her eyes. “Seriously, freaking out isn’t gonna help at all. Just… find a way to distract yourself.”

Jacob steps back towards the table, dropping back into his chair. His eyes dart around the bunker, thinking, and he starts to drum his fingers absently on the tabletop again.

Rook’s had enough, she slams the book shut on the table top and lashes out to grab Jacob’s hand and hold his fingers still, bunched up in her fist. She’s about to snap _stop that_ when Jacob reacts to the sudden movement. He moves on autopilot, grabbing her wrist with his other hand and tugging her closer as he stands from his chair. He rises so fast that the chair scrapes on the floor in a pitch that makes Rook wince, then tips over and topples to the ground with a clamor of noise.

Jacob’s lightning quick reaction had yanked Rook right out of her chair. He’s dragged her up with him, and she has to rest a knee on the tabletop for balance, her other foot digging into the seat of her chair behind her.

When she looks up, Jacob’s leaning down right into her space, his usual controlled expression on edge. The closeness is so sudden that Rook wants to shrink back, but Jacob is still holding her wrist tight, pressing bruises into her skin.

“Don’t—do _not_ do that,” Jacob warns, voice low in his throat.

“Then don’t fucking fidget so much,” Rook hisses through gritted teeth. “Find a fucking distraction.”

Not killing Jacob was supposed to be a compromise for her sanity, but that reasoning is _very_ questionable right now. They can’t get along, and if Jacob keeps… _being Jacob_ , Rook is sure to go mad in seven years.

Jacob holds her glare with gaze just as fierce, pale blue eyes like a biting frost on her face. “Look around you, Deputy. This bunker is empty in the entertainment category—you’re already losing your shit reading the few books here.”

He’s still not letting her go, and Rook might already be going mad because she thinks his gaze keeps dropping down to her lips.

A bad idea crawls into Rook’s head. Maybe it’s always been there, she’s just been doing her best to ignore it. But he’s _so close_ now that she feels like the idea’s hanging right over her head. Rook breathes in deep and smacks her lips. Jacob’s eyes latch onto the movement like a magnet. Yeah, she’s not just imagining this.

“You know,” Rook says quietly, bringing her free hand up to rest on his shoulder. If she’s wrong about this, the next seven years are going to be _so_ awkward. “There’s an art to life’s distractions. I could help. Maybe.”

Jacob’s brow twitches. “Maybe.”

Rook holds his gaze for a few more excruciating seconds, looking for any signs that she might be reading this wrong. She _should_ be reading this wrong because this is fucking crazy. Jacob just stares back—but he’s not looking at her eyes.

 _Okay._ Rook leans up and presses her lips to his. She holds for one second, two, then when he doesn’t respond she starts to pull away. But Jacob lets go of her wrist to tangle in her hair, his other hand finding a place on her hip, and pulls her close before her lips even leave his.

Rook melts into it, pressing closer, feeling his facial hair bristle against her face. His tongue swipes across her bottom lip, and Rook opens her mouth with a sigh, reveling in the low noise that escapes Jacob as he roams the warmth of her mouth.

Rook hasn’t even realized she’s wrapped herself around him, legs hitched at his sides, when static crackles from the radio nearby.

_“Jacob? Jacob, are you there?”_

Jacob freezes up, and unceremoniously drops Rook onto the table. She yelps as she lands on the tabletop, running a hand through her hair as she just breathes for a second.

“John, I’m here,” Jacob says into the radio.

John’s response comes a second later. _“Sorry for keeping you waiting, confessions ran a little long.”_

“‘Kay,” Jacob answers, tone clipped. “Talk to you next time. Over.”

Rook _balks_. He’d been fretting for so long over John and now he’s just leaving him in the dust. John’s confused, outright miffed reply starts to crackle through, but Jacob’s already turning the volume all the way down.

“Deputy.” He turns back to her, and Rook _swears_ she saw the twitch of a smile. “Could use a distraction.”

So far, week 3 of bunker life isn’t going as bad as she thought.


End file.
